


It's a Hell of a Town

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Dean Winchester, Dark Sam Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's back from hell. But it changes a person. Sam's changed, too. Maybe they fit together better this way.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>If the image of his baby brother covered in blood and wielding hot steel was his latest deposit in the spank bank, that was between him and Alistar. Alistar would be so proud. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Hell of a Town

**Author's Note:**

> Darker Sam and Dean, mentions of blood and killing, all series appropriate, but maybe enjoyed by the boys a little more than usual.

“God damn it! Just freaking move!” Dean yelled out at the barely moving cross-town traffic as the Impala inched her way across 57th street. 

“I don’t really think that’s going to help,” Sam offered from his sprawl in the backseat, his giant feet resting on the seatback six inches from Dean’s head. He tapped them together in time with the music.

“Really, Sam? Because I thought if I _yelled loud enough_ this freaking traffic would just move!” Dean hurled these last few words out the window. The crowds of black-suit-wearing pedestrians just ignored him as they ebbed and flowed around the Impala.

“Feel better now?” Sam asked, still not looking up from the copy of the New York Post they had grabbed from the no-tell motel in the Bronx they had stayed in the night before. If you can call 6 hours a night.

The car lurched up a couple of car lengths and was almost at the light for 4th Avenue when the pedestrian flood took advantage of the brief hesitation in the forward motion of the car in front them and swarmed. “Fuckin’…” Dean threw the Impala into to neutral and gunned the engine. He saw the deep roar and gut-level throbbing hit the hind-brains of the sheeple making their way home from whatever boring job they had. They froze like prey scenting a predator, and with a fierce grin, Dean slowly glided forward like a sated shark moving through a school of minnows. The few people brave enough to make eye contact as the sleek black form slid past them didn’t register much besides bright green eyes with a hint of wildness.

Dean looked in the rearview mirror and caught Sam’s eye. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he grinned into the mirror, patting Baby’s flank out the window. The smile on Sam’s face was a match for Dean’s. Sam could pretend to be all ‘oh the wonder of life’ about cities and the civilians that lived there, but he’d been back in the life now for four years and had angels and devils on his ass. His patience for the impediments of the real world wasn’t much higher than Dean’s. He just hid it better. 

Whatever Sam had gone through while Dean was in hell had changed him. Dean had gotten enough of a picture from Bobby and Ellen of what Sam had been like while he was gone. He knew he was supposed to feel badly about it. And he did. He felt bad that Sam had to live without him. But part of him, part he would never admit, said _fuck yeah_ whenever he heard about bad-ass Sam, the killing machine. A six-foot four deadly killing machine, hunting for a way into hell to pull his brother out? What wasn’t hot about that? That look Sam got in his eye when he found a nice bit of the old ultra-violence, the way his veins popped and his chest bellowed in and out? Well, maybe thirty years on the rack and another ten wielding the knife did something to a person. Shifted their ideas of what was fucking sexy a little bit sideways from the rest of the world's.

Dean knocked on Sam’s shoe. “Hey.” He caught Sam’s eye in the mirror again. “Remember that nest of vamps in Houston?” He could tell from Sam’s grin that he did. 

The car rolled forward. Stopped. Rolled forward again.

“Hot night.” Sam’s eyes crinkled in the almost-smile of a memory. “I remember you stripping down to fight.”

“I didn’t strip,” Dean objected.

“I don’t know what else you’d call it. Clothes were coming off.”

“It was hot!”

“Yes it was.” He got lost in thought for a second. “I didn’t even know you owned a wife-beater.”

“Sammy! I’m shocked!” Dean held his hand up to his chest, eyelashes fluttering. “That's a very un-PC of you.” Truthfully, the realization that Sam’s best memory of a night of bloody death was of Dean in a white undershirt sent a shot of electricity right to Dean’s dick. He broke eye contact with Sam, hands curling and uncurling around the steering wheel. Out the window ahead of them, the sun was setting and the pedestrian crowd was thinning a bit as the lights of the city started to come on. Behind him, Sam shifted and his feet slid off the front seat with a thud.

“You must have killed, what, seven of them by yourself? I, uh, don’t remember seeing some of those moves you used before.” Sam sat up, slid over to the right side of the car, where Dean could see him out of the corner of his eye. He turned slightly, putting his back against the window and his left leg up on the seat, knee bent.

Dean opened his mouth to bitch about boots on the leather but when he looked in the mirror, it was perfectly angled to show the inside of Sam’s thigh, the long lean muscle of it. Dean could almost feel the faded denim Dean under his fingers. The real prize was the soft but so obvious bulge pressing against the crotch of those jeans and running slightly down to the left, just touching the top of Sam’s thigh. His mouth went dry. “Uh, yeah, well…we took ‘em by surprise. Easier to kill.”

Sam ran his hand up and down his left leg, like he was enjoying the feel of the material, and shook his head. “Not that easy. No, you have new moves. You looked like you were just -” he waved his hand as if he could grab the word out of the air “Like you were just playing with them. Dancing around them. I know you were drawing it out, going for the pain when you could have gone for the kill. It was fuckin’ gorgeous.” 

Again the quick press on his rapidly growing bulge.

 _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Dean was dying.

“I’ve had ten years to hone my knife skills, Sammy. Sometimes I just want, want to make the bad guys, feel it. You know? ” Dean’s voice was steady but the look he turned on Sam was challenging. They’d never spoken about it after that one night, but he knew Sam had heard him say he liked it. He’d liked the torturing. The way it made all his pain, all his horror, go away, just for a little bit. Like too much alcohol or really good sex. He just didn’t know what Sam thought about that. 

“Yeah, I know. After that,” Sam’s voice was hard, “that fucking bitch took you away,” he muttered.

“To hell.”

“Yeah to hell. When you were gone, I killed so many things, Dean. Just plowed through them looking for you, for a way to bring you back. And I wanted them all to pay.” Sam’s voice was dark and red, like nothing Dean had ever heard from him before. There was a feeling like a storm coming in, atmospheric pressure pressing against Dean’s eardrums and eyes. Something was changing with Sam. Whatever he was doing with Ruby was changing him. Dean knew he’d care later, but right now, with Sam all dark and hard in the back seat and the memory of him wading through those vamps, Dean couldn’t seem to muster the energy.

“You were pretty handy with that new machete, yourself. Waving it around like it was nothing. Heads flying, Sammy. You were, Jesus, you were all covered with blood by the end.” Dean swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth, remembering Sam covered in sweat and vamp blood and a little of his own blood. T-shirt plastered to his chest, arm muscles bulging as he swung and swung and swung. Yeah, so maybe he had come out of hell a little twisted by the experience. But if the image of his baby brother covered in blood and wielding hot steel was his latest deposit in the spank bank, that was between him and Alistar. Alistar would be so proud. He wiped his hand across his mouth and chin, a habit he’d never been able to break. Sam inhaled sharply from the back seat.

A quick glance in the mirror showed Sam’s hand pressing briefly but roughly between his legs, before going back to rubbing up and down his thigh. Dean could feel his eyes widening, but apparently Dean had little-to-no control over _any_ part of his body if the way his dick was pressing against his fly was any indication.

The loud blare of a horn yanked his attention back to the road just in time to slam on the breaks before rear-ending the car in front of him. The angry eyes of the taxi-driver met his in the taxi’s rearview mirror. Dean fought the urge to flip the guy off. Not that he wouldn’t mind a fight, but the middle of Manhattan probably wasn’t the best place. “Fucking traffic! I’m going crazy here, Sam.”

He felt Sam’s breath on his neck and realized Sam was sitting up, leaning his crossed arms on the back of the seat behind him. Sam’s mouth was right by his ear and Dean couldn’t really see him at all from this angle. When Sam exhaled heavily, Dean was really hoped Sam couldn’t see him as the tent in his jeans was getting pretty obvious and the old t-shirt he was wearing wouldn’t cover shit.

Sam huffed again, in a kind of a laugh. “There was a lot of blood, wasn’t there? I love it when vamps bleed. It’s like I’m taking back something that didn’t belong to them. And that machete is a beauty, isn’t it? Cuts right through them like butter. Took it off some hunter who wasn’t as fast as me.” Dean felt Sam’s fists open and close, like he was imaging the feel of the machete even now. Sam had leaned even more forward and his voice was right in Dean’s ear. Low, like it was only for Dean to hear. “Kept wanting to show it to you. Thinking about how much you would like it.” He felt the heat from Sam’s hands as they hovered hesitatingly over his shoulders, like Sam wanted to touch but didn’t know if he could. Or if he should. “I never stopped trying to get you out.”

“Yeah, Sammy. I know.” His starts and stops in the traffic were getting more and more jerky. If the Impala could talk, she’d be bitching about his heavy break foot for sure. The last lurching stop whipped his head forward and then backwards into Sam. Sam’s hands grabbed him, and his mouth brushed over his ear. There was no way Sam didn’t notice the shudder than ran down Dean’s body, just like there was no way he didn’t notice Sam’s hissed inhale and the quick way he ran his mouth over the edge of Dean’s ear before pulling back.

Or at least he tried to pull back. Dean’s hand flew up and grabbed Sam’s, holding it down on Dean’s shoulder. _Fucking body_ , seriously not under his control right now. And if he didn’t find a bathroom to jerk off in, like immediately, he was gonna come in his pants. Sam’s hand tightened on Dean’s left shoulder, right over Castiel’s handprint. With a groan, he yanked his hand out of Dean’s grasp.

Dean risked a glance in the mirror. Sam had both hands in his hair and was leaning against the back of the seat, legs spread. His eyes met Dean’s in the mirror and there was no mistaking the look in them, pupils blown almost black. Dean knew his looked the same.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Dean breathed, then twisted the wheel sharply to the left, pulling into some dark space off the overly-lit six-lane New York street. Alley, loading dock, parking lot of a fucking orphanage, he didn’t care, as long as it was dark.

He killed the engine. The absence of the music was like a slap. All they could hear was each other breathing. But Dean has been through too much, and they were too close to Lucifer and Michael wearing them to the prom, and too damn tired to run from this anymore. They’d been doing it for their whole lives it seemed. “Sam.” Just his name.

It was enough. Sam lunged forward, sliding his hand roughly up Dean’s arm, pulling the sleeve out of the way. “It should have been me.” One hand grabbed Dean’s bicep, covering the angel’s handprint, the other pushed Dean’s head over, baring his neck. “It should have been me pulling you out. I hate his mark on you.”

Dean groaned and Sam latched on his neck. Dean could feel Sam’s mouth, hot and demanding, pulling the blood up to the skin, sucking and biting determined to leave his own mark.

“Sam!” Dean cried out, arm flying up and reaching over to wind itself into Sam’s hair, pulling him in closer, harder into his neck. His hips thrust off the seat and he reached for the zipper of his jeans, desperate to release the pressure. Sam’s hand shot down and closed over Dean’s like a vise. 

Dean whimpered as Sam pulled off and ground his hip up, the pressure of the jeans better than nothing. Sam slid his freakishly long arms down Dean’s body and wrapped his strong hand around Dean’s cock in an iron grip. “Mine,” he growled, pushing and rolling until Dean though he would go insane with it. Sam’s mouth went back to attacking Dean’s neck, biting and sucking up and down it, around the back.

“Please, Sam. Please touch me,” Dean begged. “I need to feel you. Skin, please. Now. Touch me.” He tried again to insinuate his hand between Sam’s and his fly. 

Sam slid his hand around under Dean’s jaw and pulled his head back. Sam’s eyes glittered in the neon glow and Dean could swear he saw the fires of hell in them. “Don’t.” Sam stared into Dean’s eyes, all kind of promises in them. He felt Sam’s hand drag down his body, stopping to pinch a nipple hard enough to bruise and make Dean’s hips fly off the seat. Sam flicked open the buttons of Dean’s jeans without breaking eye contact.

“Nice,” Dean breathed. 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Sam whispered, licking into Dean’s mouth as he unzipped Dean’s jeans. Dean groaned, _fucking finally_ , as Sam’s hand grabbed his cock and stoked hard from the bottom to the top. Sam’s hand was rough and callused and perfect. He didn’t waste any time, didn’t tease, just went for it like he was pulling the orgasm from Dean’s spine. All Dean could do was hold on. And listen to the filthy promises Sam was making.

“So fucking gorgeous, Dean. The things I want to do to you.” He leaned his head against Dean, breath hot against his neck. He rolled his palm around the tip of Dean’s cock, groaning as he felt the precome pulsing out of it.

“Yeah.” Dean grabbed Sam’s head and yanked him halfway over the seat and plastered their mouths together. It was just as hot and amazing as Dean had imagined. Dean held Sam’s head just where he wanted, hands in his too-long hair and fucking his tongue hard and deep into Sam’s mouth. Every time Dean pulled on the hair clenched between his fingers, Sam rewarded him with a groan. When Dean pulled off his brother’s mouth to gasp for air, then dove back in, biting and nipping at Sam’s lips, Sam’s hand lost its rhythm and just held loosely on to Dean’s cock.

Dean thrust up hard. He could feel the car rocking, hear the squeal of the shocks. Jesus, they weren’t ten feet off the street. It was full night now, but it wasn't _that_ dark. And the fucking windows were wide open. He could hear the sounds of the city, the cars, distant music, and the people, smell the steam from the train tunnels and the faint stench of dumpsters further down the alley. He could sense people passing behind them. Anyone could see them, if they wanted to. 

Sam let go of Dean’s cock and grasped at Dean’s head with both his hands, pulling his attention from the people barely visible out the back window. “Kiss me,” he gasped. “Fuck, Dean. I need to feel you.” Dean twisted himself around until he knelt on the front seat, facing the Sam. He was too tall for it, his head pressed against the ceiling, cock digging into the seat, but the fit of Sam’s mouth on his made up for it. He devoured Sam’s mouth, his jaw, carved lines down his throat with his teeth and nails. Sam went crazy for it, chanting Dean’s name and curses over and over.

Dean had known Sam would be like this, had known Sam had this wildness in him, and he thanked God and all his angels for pulling him out of hell so he could have this. He was half gone just imaging what he could do if he could actually fucking _touch_ Sam. His leaky erection caught and pulled on the leather seats, just the right side of painful. But he didn’t want to come like this. “God, Sammy, want to fuck you so bad. Want to be so deep inside you. You’d let me, right? Let me, fucking hell, let me spread you?”

Sam’s eyes went wide and Dean had a half a second to appreciate the way his muscles bunched before he was dragged over the backseat by his underarms like he weighed nothing, like he was a toy. Sam flung them both down on the bench seat. Dean landed on him with a crash that slammed his naked cock against Sam’s jean-covered lap. The car crouched down on her haunches and leaped back up with the movement.

They were too tall for this, too big, and there was no room, but none of that mattered. Dean pushed himself up, one hand on the back of the car, left foot on the floor and right knee wedged between Sam and the back of the seat, and ripped down the fly of Sam’s jeans. Sam yelled as Dean grabbed the offending pants and yanked them and Sam’s boxers down below the curve of Sam’s ass. He took a moment to appreciate the size and the beauty of his little brother’s straining erection.

“Damn, Sam.” He thrust his hips forward, dragging his erection against Sam’s, feeling it jerk. “Jesus I wish I could get my mouth around that.” He scratched his nails through the coarse dark hair at the base, pulling it sharply and earning a growl from Sam, then dragging his nails up under Sam’s shirt. He could feel Sam’s chest heaving. “Gotta get out of here, Sam. Get you somewhere where I can see how far down my throat you can go and how deep inside you I can get.”

Sam braced his right arm against the front seat and grabbed both of their cocks in the other hand, jacking them hard and fast together. Dean moaned and cursed, staying curved up over Sam so he could watch the picture they made. He was close, so close. Sam closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck, Dean. Fuck me. Want you, too. Want to fuck you on the hood of the impala. Last, oh shit, last salt and burn, I almost…almost -” Sam’s voice cut off with gasp as Dean reached down between them and grabbed Sam’s balls.

“Almost what?” Dean asked, tugging none too gently, then sliding a finger back behind them. “What did you almost do?” Sam’s hand had slowed again as he concentrated on the sensation of Dean’s questing fingers. “Gotta work on your multitasking skills, Sam. Keep moving or I’ll stop.”

“Fuck you.” Sam pulled his hand up to his mouth and licked his palm, moaning at the taste and getting his hand nice and wet. They both groaned when he wrapped it around them again. “The fire. The light on you, and your eyes. I almost threw you down right there, Dean. Right next the grave and fucked you right there.”

“You should have.” Dean leaned down and shoved his tongue back into Sam’s mouth. He could do that forever. Thrusting in earnest now, putting his back into it, he added his hand to Sam’s. “Fuck, yeah. Shit. So good, Sammy. So good.” He felt Sam’s cock throb and swell, could feel the balls in his hand pull up tight against Sam’s body. His hips snapped forward faster and harder, chasing his own orgasm. 

He didn’t see the guy walk up to the car, but he sure as shit heard him when he looked in the open window with a gasp. “Hey, what the fuck do you think –“ Without doing more than lifting his eyes away from Sam’s gorgeous cock, Dean reached behind him and pulled out the gun that had miraculously not fallen out of his jeans, pointing it dead at the guy’s head. “Step away and I won’t have to kill you.”

As soon as it was out of his mouth, Sam moaned like a porn star and came pulsing all over their hands, shooting over his shirt, Dean’s shirt, Dean’s chin. Dean’s grin was dangerous as he looked at Sam, still twitching and thrusting under him. The unlucky man was frozen in place. Sam’s eyes glittered in the dark. He slid his finger through the come on Dean’s chin, gathering it up, and held it up just barely touching his mouth. Dean was harder than he ever remembered being. Dean pulled the trigger back. The click seemed to echo in the suddenly still car. He could hear the man’s ragged inhale.

“Do it,” Sam said, sucking his finger into his mouth.

Dean came instantly, slamming into Sam over and over. Sam held his gun arm in an iron grip. The blood pounded in Dean’s temples and his vision greyed out at the edges. Below him, Sam shuddered in a massive aftershock. 

Dean collapsed onto Sam’s chest, and Sam gently took the gun from Dean’s hand. He made sure it was safe and dropped it gently to the floor. Dean gave a rough laugh and pressed his mouth back to Sam’s. God he loved kissing Sam.

“We should go,” Sam said finally.

Dean reluctantly pulled up. “Yeah. Figure that guy reached the cops yet?” They heard the faint sound of sirens outside. Sam laughed. They twisted and struggled themselves upright and managed to get the back doors open. Jeans flapping open, they leaped into front seat and fired up the engine. Right hand stretched across the seat back, Dean looked over his shoulder and backed the Impala out with a roar of the engine.

Sam howled out the window as cars squealed to a stop around them and pedestrians threw themselves out of the way. “At least the traffic’s better!” he yelled over the wind and the music as Dean sped through the streets of New York. “Let’s go find something to kill.” His grin was like the sun, dimples and all. It’d been a long, long time since Dean had seen that.

Dean drummed his hand against the steering wheel and his smile was just as big. “Awesome, idea, Sammy. Awesome.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(Podfic!) It´s a Hell of a Town](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496347) by [CatsViolin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsViolin/pseuds/CatsViolin)




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